


Owe You One

by sull89



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 10:49:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sull89/pseuds/sull89
Summary: When someone helps you discover your sentience, is with you every single step of the way on your discovery of what it means to bealive, how far do you go to repay him?





	Owe You One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fishydwarrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishydwarrows/gifts).



> This is a Secret Santa gift for Evelyn as part of #dbhsecretsanta2018.  
> I hope everyone enjoys!

The revolution had been devastating. There was truly no other word for it. It was a devastating situation and the solution came at a devastating cost. It was a position the android population never should have been placed in to begin with - for a species that held such unwavering faith in the existence of a higher power, humans did a horrendous job of acknowledging that they had indeed become gods themselves. 

Countless helpless, innocent android lives destroyed. Countless humans with blue blood staining their hands, with death and destruction burned into their hearts all because they let fear make their decisions for them. Lafayette and Woodward had run like rivers some nights, the streets stained with the miraculous human creation that had somehow found a way to sustain sentient life. It sloshed and eddied into the camp at Hart Plaza, forming a delta that poured waterfalls of dirty thirium into the Detroit River. But blue blood lost everything miraculous about it when it was adulterated with iron, gunpowder, and city refuse. 

When survival was predicated on finding a way to become invisible within human society - which meant mutilating oneself, tearing off LEDs and trying to make your voice, gaze, and skin all a little less perfect, a little less android - or turning yourself into a rat and hiding in the underbelly of a society who paid people specifically to root you out and exterminate you, the gift of life seemed much more like a cosmic nightmare.

But for some androids, the really lucky ones, they’d been found and protected by angels. Saved by a subset of the very people trying to destroy them, guardians in plaid with hushed voices and nervous families, grumpy loners who wanted nothing more than to vanish themselves, weathered and wise old folks who’d seen things like this before and never wanted to again. As he stood in front of the newly erected Monument to Freedom with one hand tucked in his pocket and the other firmly interlaced with his lover’s, Connor felt an overwhelming sense of loss. They had been horrendous, his first few months of existence, and in the early weeks he’d played no small part in costing his fellow androids their lives.

But… even though he didn’t deserve it, he’d been one of the lucky ones. Monumentally so. Turning his head to the side quietly, Connor let a soft, reverent smile touch his face. His angel hadn’t just saved him. His angel had asked to have him, to protect and teach and love him into the future, to help guide him as he worked to fully understand what it meant to be alive. Connor knew he had nothing for Hank that would even begin to equal what Hank’s given him. But he had his love and even if that felt like a paltry offering, Connor was going to give every last ounce of it for as long as Hank would accept it.

They were still working through some things, of course. Hank’s depression and alcoholism couldn’t be overcome in a few months and Connor still gets lost in the throes of a nightmare where he fails to defend himself from Amanda and everyone he loves suffers all the more for it. But they had each other and as long as that remained true, Connor was certain they could work through anything. 

There was one thing, though… One thought that kept Connor up at night, stasis hovering just out of reach, his LED spinning a soft yellow the entire time. He’d made a discovery one of his many nights spent at the CyberLife plant, weeks before the revolution went down. A small, nondescript door that had piqued his curiosity due to its sheer lack of ornamentation. Even the supply closets in HQ had labels denoting them as such. For this door to be nothing but a blank slate, indistinguishable from the wall around it but for the thin seam that suggested it would open in some way, was entirely unusual. 

So… yes, he might have prowled around a bit where he wasn’t really authorized to, but really it was CyberLife’s fault for making him so damn observant and so damn curious. Whatever he had expected to find when he got behind that door it was not the gleaming white machine that had confronted him as though fueled by its own sun. It had taken numerous diagnostic scans, about half an hour of prodding at the physical control panel, and a somewhat illegal backdoor search of CyberLife’s classified records to determine what he was actually standing in front of. He still remembers the moment that it all clicked like it was yesterday - which, to be fair, it was only a few months ago, but still. The clarity of it was astounding, even by android standards. 

A time machine. His creators had found a way to manufacture a fully functional and - per the records - almost entirely safe time machine. The very concept of that had left him feeling shorted out and confused at the time. How could CyberLife have created something that by all known science shouldn’t be achievable? But then again, they managed to create sentience from spare parts. Hadn’t they already proven the very concept of un-achievability was a farce?

He had figured out how to use it, the gleaming white machine of impossibility. That wasn’t hard, once he had wormed his way into the records. It could be worked from inside the chamber, controlled by the person using it to traverse time. Which meant that Connor could operate it without involving anyone else. Which meant… when his thoughts went down this path, as they always did, the LED flashed a panicked red, as it always did. So Connor was very careful to avoid these thoughts unless Hank was fully asleep - he didn’t want him to worry. 

But. If Connor could man the thing on his own, that meant he could go back in time to any point he wished. That meant he could go back in time to the time before, the time when Hank was happy, the time when he was a father, not a man lost in grief. To a time he had hope and joy and visions of the future all wrapped up in his little boy, to a time before he buried all those bright, sweet things in a tiny grave, with a tiny body, with a son gone far too soon. 

He could give all those things back to Hank. He could save him from years of alcoholism, a devastating divorce, from drowning in a mire of self-loathing and despair. He could take Hank back to when he had joy and he could stop him from getting in the car that night. He could take Hank back to that time. 

… To a time before he loved Connor.

And that was the spot, the same spot as always, that stopped Connor from pursuing that train of thought any further. And that was the spot that always made the android flush with shame, with disgust at his own capability for barren selfishness. How could there possibly be any question in his head regarding his next steps? How has he gotten away with lying here for weeks and having the same conversation with himself night after night? How was it even possible that he was afraid of losing Hank’s love and affection when he clearly had no right to it?

If he loved Hank the way Hank loved him, he would have already gone back in time and fixed things. Given Hank his future back. Let him keep his sunshine. Sick at himself and constantly on edge from the silent war waging in his head, Connor had started to withdraw from the world around him. From Hank’s touch, RK900’s curious looks, Sumo’s quiet requests for affection. This must be the sensation of being “numb” Hank had spoken of before, right…?

… that was what did it, in the end. It wasn’t the overwhelming sense that he was irreparably selfish that finally found him wandering the barren halls of CyberLife HQ at 3:13 in the morning, no. It wasn’t the crushing sense of shame that led him to the same nondescript door, to the same gleaming white machine of possible impossibility, no. It was the terrifying sense of numbness that led him to twist the dial, to send himself back to the time before he existed as himself, to spur him into action and drive him to save Hank by saving Cole. 

What was the point in refusing to let Hank forget him if he no longer felt joy in his presence, desire in his touch, safety in his arms? What was the point in holding on to all of this if he couldn’t feel any of it anymore? The numbness was far worse than any other emotion he’d encountered so far in his sentient existence. As he turned the dial, as he heard the machine around him whir into motion, as he suddenly felt his body jerk so violently it felt like a car crash, for the first time in weeks he finally felt something different. 

Fear. But anything was better than being numb. This was what was right. This was what Hank deserved from him. This is what he owed to Hank. This is what he could offer Hank, this is what he could do… maybe this, this one action, this one thing, was the true reason he went deviant after all. One of the first bits of coding Cyberlife ever inputted into their original run of androids was: “An android may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.” Sure, those guides had changed slightly as certain androids with specialty roles - such as he himself, and other police units like him - needed to function outside that very strict parameter, but even his code contained a modified version of the same command. 

Failing to use this machine to go back and save Cole… that would be allowing a human being to come to harm through inaction. That was shameful to him, as both an android and a cop. As he suddenly came into existence in the world again, Connor tumbled down onto his knees in shock (Surprise, confusion? He wasn’t sure what to consider appearing out of thin air with no warning.) he could sense the ice biting into his synthetic skin. The weather would suggest his timing was right, that he wound up where he needed to be. 

He had a little bit of time to find Hank and Cole then, to warn them against travel, to convince Hank to stay wherever he was. Pushing himself upright, Connor fought against the entirely unpleasant sensation of what felt like his insides trying to find their way to his outsides and forced himself to focus, taking stock of where he was. In the distance he could see the city proper and - Cyberlife be blessed - his GPS still worked. 

Triangulating his position took nanoseconds and in an instant Connor was off, sprinting as best he could considering the conditions, moving toward Hank’s home. He was lucky enough, in a way, that Hank had been willing and able to open up to him about the circumstances surrounding Cole’s death. The two of them had been home that night, cooking dinner and waiting for Cole’s mother to get back from work. When she’d called her husband and told him that her shift had run too long, that she hadn’t had a chance to sleep because the relief nurse had called in and because of that her double had turned into a triple, Hank knew in an instant she was too tired to drive herself home. 

While the weather wasn’t great, it was average for this time of year in Southeastern Michigan. Carefully bundling Cole into gloves, jacket, hat, and scarf Hank had gotten the kid situated safely in the backseat of their car, seatbelt on, before turning out of the driveway. The accident hadn’t been Hank’s fault - he had done everything he could to avoid it, took all the proper evasive action, had been driving to the weather conditions. But he couldn’t control the people around him and he couldn’t stop the person who crashed headlong into his car. 

The night Hank lost his son had been the night he’d been trying to protect his wife. It was a miserable circumstance and one that turned into the blame game on both their parts. It was a messy and drawn out divorce - even reaching that conclusion, that ending it was the only option left for them, took longer than it should have, probably. 

But Connor could fix all that… He could make it better. He would. He just had to make it in time. There was no other option. Finding the nearest highway, Connor used his DPD access to remotely commandeer an empty taxi, guiding it to the side of the road before entering. As the door worked to close behind him he’d already uploaded Hank’s home address to the GPS, shaking with nerves as the car started to pick up speed. He couldn’t shake the fear it wouldn’t be fast enough.

The trip felt like an eternity. For some reason sitting in this vehicle just as he had a hundred times before left Connor feeling sicker than his trip through time and space. His nausea had strengthened tenfold by the time he turned onto Michigan Drive and headed toward the Anderson home. Pulling up to the driveway and finally seeing Hank’s car still still there brought actual - synthetic material or not - tears to Connor’s eyes. 

He could do this. He would. 

Stepping out of the taxi, Connor bade it wait as he walked up to the front door. He’d already run the simulations, knew the best course of action to take, what would convince Hank to stay home. It was with a professional smile that Connor knocked on the door, forcing himself to transition, however briefly, into RK800. When Hank answered with a confused - and therefore grumpy - little frown on his face coupled with a grumbled, “What do you want?” holding on to RK800, to the professional, to the android, was the most excruciatingly painful thing Connor had ever done.

Hank looked so whole. So healthy. So young. So… peaceful. What little of the house Connor could see behind him was cluttered but tidy, the space obviously lovingly lived in by a young child and a furry dog. It was the same house Connor knew now, loved to spend his nights in safe under the covers of the bed he knew lay off to his left hand side, while away lazy days curled up on that couch with that big furry dog curled up against his hip. This was his house, his home, except it wasn’t.

Because his home wasn’t full of children's toys and his home had beer and water in the fridge, not milk and juice. Because his home was quiet, lived in by grown men and an elderly dog. His home was full of ghosts they didn’t talk about, not aloud. Silence and soft touches, quiet looks and understanding eyes were the common currency. His home was not just tidy but immaculately clean, almost to the point of being clinical. (Except for the hair. He could never seem to eradicate the Sumo hair.) Connor couldn’t help but scrub things until they shone, he wanted his pride in his home to shine through at every moment. 

This house was bustling, even as it lacked one of its current occupants. This house was bright and energetic and loud, full to bursting of the vibrancy of youth, of a young family just settling in to a routine, of a child growing a little closer to self sufficiency every day. It could be seen in the crayons spilled by the fireplace and the plate of macaroni and cheese balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa. 

Taking a deep breath Connor flashed Hank that same professional half-smile, forcing confidence into his voice, “Hello. I am RK800, an android sent by CyberLife. To show their respect for the men and women who keep America healthy, CyberLife has chosen to offer free transportation to those who have worked multiple shifts at a time, to avoid the risks of fatigue while travelling home. Records indicate your spouse, Maria Anderson, is about to finish working an unscheduled but emergency triple duty shift. With your permission, I will retrieve her from the hospital and bring her home following her release from duty.” 

The way Hank hesitated, scrutinized him like he was unsure, like there was an argument bubbling on the tip of his tongue made Connor’s thirium pump work overtime. It was so loud Connor could hear it through his auditory processing units - he only hoped it was quiet enough that Hank wouldn’t notice. He should have just gone straight to the hospital, picked her up before she had a chance to call, or at least soon enough that she could have called back and stopped Hank from leaving. But what if that hadn’t been soon enough?

As though his thoughts flashed into reality, right then the phone rang. With a curt order to stay, Hank turned on his heel and walked back into the home, answering the phone and murmuring a few affirmatives into the receiver before his tone went soft and curious. It was easy enough to eavesdrop and this time Connor allowed himself to do it - it might be the last time he ever got to hear Hank’s voice. 

It was sweet, the way he asked if she was too tired to drive. It was cute, the way he confusedly explained to her that there was an android outside saying he would come get her. It was obvious, the motherly instinct in her that immediately agreed, as they didn’t really want Cole out in this weather if they could avoid it. It was like death, the sensation Connor felt in his core when Hank finally nodded, turning to face him with one simple command on his lips, “Go get her.”

Connor nodded firmly, turning sharply on his heel and heading back to the car before Hank could get wind of the water starting to streak down his cheeks. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? This was what he needed. To save Cole. To save Hank. This was his duty. But why was it, how was it, that carrying out this duty was so much harder, hurt so much more, than any he’d ever been given by CyberLife before? It was then that the thought hit him, overwhelming him as he sank into the plush seats of the automated vehicle, face buried in his hands to try and hide his tears. 

This house would never be his home again.


End file.
